


and a voice cried out

by Cellescent



Category: Digimon - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cellescent/pseuds/Cellescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>she was yet their Messiah, but the leader that was led;</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>and the blind would lead the blinding just as well as you'd expect.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. aimless

Sometimes, you look at her, and do not feel a thing.

She's a smile, and a wave, and a twinkling eye; she's an eager hand at lessons and leisure alike. She is happy brilliance incarnate.

 

On that first night, after everything ends...

You lie awake, and muse;  
on absence,  
on the infinite null behind the Gate,  
on the sound of depths impossible,  
on the sensation of your very breath fading away, hot behind the veil.  
  
You drift off to a sense of mystery impenetrable, and awake well wary within the hour. It is time, it would seem, for third watch.

 

In the coming days, it will have to be you, to first note the signs in them all.  
In your heroes, in your comrades, in your closest of friends;  
in yourself, if you care to be honest,  
and you know all too well that tact was never your strongest suit.  
You will see, but you will not see enough; and in time, you too will learn to ask an equal to help, to act on what you see, in ways you would never imagine. 

 

It will be long past that, when you grit your teeth, and ask another to see where your eyes cannot, to teach you the songs of their sights;

and beyond that, longer still; to espy the way, within, you see yourself, and know its truths and failings;

and, longest of all, to ease your empty guilts.

 

And this is a strange thing.  
Why, even now, you know it well. You have but two eyes, but two hands, but one mind to process an endless world.  
There are some matters that were never your business. Some that could not possibly fall under your purview. 

 

You are but yourself; and you will never, ever, know everything.

 

But oh, 

to think that you of all people, might see _nothing,_

and look no further.


	2. ii. heartless

Sometimes, you look at her, and all you see is him.

Under all that sparkle and smile, she's got a core like a diamond, that girl. It makes you hurt inside to see. That's not his smile, those aren't his eyes, and _yet: _something about her just hits you, too close. Right up in your core.__

Kids should get to be happy.

 

What kind of world is this, anyway?

 

You get back into the swing of music, in the safe, safe streets, in a city you know far too well. You pick up the guitar. 

Something is tugging at your soul, these days. 

It goes slow at first, then the tide starts to rise; and out it comes, pouring out in great big crashes of pain and life and song, til your eyes flash bright at the effort, just of holding yourself together. It is not enough - not nearly enough - and even as you sing and play at once, with all you've got, with all you'll ever have, even yet you crumble, bend under the weight of avarice and  
it is  
(you are)  
never  
nearly  
enough.

 

(It will be harder for you, than most, to accept the problem; but easier, for you, perhaps, to fix it. You've walked this path before.)

(She wasn't the only kid, among you, to ever grow too tough.)


	3. iii. feckless

Sometimes, you look at her, and you're not quite sure what real even means anymore.

You aren't very close; in age, in height, in friends. That's normal, all the books say. But sometimes, it's like she's even farther than that; like she's somewhere else.

Something else.

You're probably just overthinking it.

 

Studies are bad as ever, when you get back. Sure, you saved the world, once, what might as well be a million planes away, but that's not getting you into medical school. You take to studying outside, at least, for a short while; and when the wind and the sun drive you back in, back to your room again, yes, but the sounds of nature from a tinny speaker by your side. Leaves rustling, fish splashing, brooks burbling in that cheery way they always did.

It keeps you grounded.

 

Everything's just the way it used to be, and you're glad of that. Only, there are those moments, when it isn't the same at all; and you're not quite sure how to feel about that.

You're absentminded, crossing the street, and the light starts to change, and _very near you_ a motor starts revving; and suddenly, you are on the other side of the street, bag clutched to your chest, and your blood surges through your veins, and you are about to be sick;

And you pick up your scalpel, and cut into stinking, clammy, specimen, and try not to think, try so desperately not to think, of a princess, of a song, of the last of the revelers;

And you apply for a short training camp, a real opportunity near a great hospital, only it wants to know,

Have you had Experiences, dealing with Death, or The Dying?

and

you don't really know how to explain.

 

You'll wonder, when he calls, if you're really the right guy for this? You aren't even close to the entire group, let alone the closest. You aren't even the coolest. But that's not a point you'll put to him, put to him, in the end; there are some thoughts you keep to yourself, in a field like your own.

You won't be able to find everyone help. That would require understanding; and there are some things you do not understand, about your companions, your teammates, your closest friends. Many things, about some. (Everything, really, about one in particular.)

But you'll have to make do.

Everyone needs someone to rely on.


	4. iv. thoughtless

Sometimes, you look at her, and you don't know what to say.

She's a little star, at the center of your group, and you'd just _fight_ something before letting her get hurt! The things you would do. You've never really thought about what it'd be like, to have a little sister, but oh, you'd adopt her in a second, you're sure. It'd be such fun!

Only...

She can get this look on her face, sometimes, like... it's hard to explain. It's not a thing you can put into words.

These days, it's rare you don't know what to do, but that look. After everything you've been through - _you_ you, but also _you_ and _she_ and _everyone_ \- you don't know. You just don't know anymore.

Life's not that simple, is it?

 

You kind of broke down there, on the train back. 

How could you not? How could _any_ of you not? You made it, you survived, you saved the world - saved _two_ worlds! Two! - and, in the end, you got to go home; but without your dearest friends? Without your partners?

But in the end, life goes on, is the thing.

You'd follow your heart to the ends of the earth, but you can't do that just lying around all day. So you get up, you get out, you hit the mall - well, not _the_ mall, but you know, a decent one, all things considered - and you get back to life. It's not the same, and it never will be; but you've learned that already, haven't you?

The sadness doesn't stop, but it won't stop you either.

You're pretty sure, anyway.

 

You're a lot tougher, these days; but that almost makes it harder.

A boy pulls your hair when your back is turned, and you don't cry, don't even flinch. A man brushes up too close on the train, and you stare straight up into his face until he moves away. An elder rails about all the kids these days and their clothes and their machines, and you answer: What's wrong with that?

Your parents ask you, what's wrong, indeed. And you don't know how to tell them that, well. You've seen things. You've lost things, but, the way you are, the way you got to be strong - that's different. You're not lashing out, you swear, you're not that different. You're you, the same old you! 

And they say, what happened to our little princess, while she was gone? And you want to scream.

 

You never thought you'd be happy, to move away, to have to make a new self, where nobody knows you; but everywhere, everyone, everything is different now. Or rather, they're all the same. It's you who changed - for the better, you know it! Just that, it seems your home town doesn't quite agree.

You also figure it's time to do something about the nightmares.

You'll have to trust them to hold down the fort here, you say. And sure, they each take it their own way; but you have to go. You have some stuff you need to work out, and you think you know just the place to do it. 

Besides, you've been thinking about a new look. It just hasn't been the same, without that hat.

(You almost decided to not say goodbye; but you laughed, when you caught yourself. It really _had_ been destiny, hadn't it?) 

 

And you'll be back, when the wind changes, and your heart has calmed; and they'll have made a right mess in your absence, won't they have? 

And your heart will ache, and you'll wish you could have helped, did _something_ , but - well, wishing won't solve anything, won't it? What's done is done.

You'll just have to help her keep moving, is all.

No regrets.


	5. v. clueless

Sometimes, you look at her, and you wonder what it's like.

 

Well, sure, she dropped in only partway through the adventure; but you spent a lot of time together. You noticed right away.

She's not the chatty type of girl, like most girls your age. She does her own thing. Not that she's really quiet or something, either, just kinda calm. You like being around her; you seem to get one another, on most stuff, and also she provides a pretty interesting perspective on lots of things that you don't really tend to think about. Like, shampoo. She knows way more about shampoo than you ever thought there was to think about. 

But if there's one thing that stands out the most, to you, it's that one bond. All you have to do is say his name, and she lights right up. Really gets cheerful. She can go on for ages, about the things he does,  good or bad, cool or kinda stupid. You can guess who she learned all the hair stuff from, when you think about it. It's just that kinda bond.

Yeah.

Must be nice.

 

Everyone's feeling it, that long ride home. Everyone's pretty quiet. So it's just you in your head, thinking. Cogitating.

Realizing.

See, you don't need to be right next to each other, to have fun, to maybe hang out sometimes. But... you don't really know. Over there, you got to be together with everyone, a lot. Not that it was all fun and games. You remember plenty of that. Fear, panic, confusion, a life you just didn't know how to deal with... you all really went through a lot. But in the end, it was together. With joined hands, you conquered, a world you'll never forget.

What are you trying to say?

Loss is worse, every time; like your spirit bowing under familiar weight, a little lower, a little lower. You don't know if it's worse when you expect it or when you don't. Both are a level of magnitude more than you ever think you can deal with; whether it's dread, mounting higher and higher, spiking as calamities approach... or it's shock, pulling you away from the world, from a truth you don't know how to face... you never know, just how it is that you haven't fallen apart.

You...

You were fine, before everything began. You could make your own food, sometimes; and you did all your homework pretty good; and you even went to bed, by yourself. (It was a big step, at the moment, ok?)

And since then, you've proven yourself so well, haven't you? Through all you've seen, and all you've done; through the hands that held you up, and the hands you held up in turn.

But see, now that all's been said and done... you don't have anyone, right now, and,

well

you've seen what the darkness can do.

 

You buy a nightlight. You buy a  _better_ nightlight. You save up, coins you find on the ground, and little bits of allowance, and maybe just a smidgen of lunch money too, until you're pretty sure you have enough for a really nice lamp of your very own; and after a while, mom takes you out and gets you one with different brightness settings, just as long as you promise you won't stay up too late, alright?

Oh, you don't stay up late. You get up early; and in the wee hours of the morn, before there's breakfast to eat and showers to take, you write it all down, in that little notebook you never did end up using in school. Your fears, your dreams, your fearful dreams - everything.

You pour it all down on the paper, and pray the weight of your words will hold the shadows back.

 

(Nothing does. Your hands, your heart, your _wrath -_ all come down to naught.)

 

(But then, that was never your role, was it, child?)


	6. vi. reckless

Sometimes, you look at her, and you wonder how much she really understands.

 

So, you're not really the smart-guy type. It's cool and all, but hey, that's not your style.

You're a leader, if anything that's all you are - and leaders don't really do much thinking! You do leader things, like making mistakes, and doing the first thing that comes to mind at every possible moment. Sometimes you do some pretty awesome stuff, but at the end of the day, you're just a guy with a great team looking out for him. You know firsthand what happens, when nobody's got your back, and it is  _not_ pretty stuff.

This is how teams work. Somebody's gotta lead, even if they're like the least useful guy of the lot. Everyone understands.

Almost everyone.

 

You come home, to a world that doesn't need you.

It takes you a long, long time to figure out what's bugging you, itching in the back of your head. You make up reasons to call everyone up, see how they're doing; you get into a few more squabbles than you really should, but hey, what's _her_ problem; you even take a stab at some homework. Mom asks if you're feeling alright, at that one. You say you think so, and smile, to shut her down quick. She shouldn't need to worry about it.

The kicker - heh - ends up coming from soccer, like most things do for you. You're down at the store, stocking up on snacks so a certain someone won't try rolling out the quinoa cookies again; only, groceries are the last thing on your mind, 'cause the owner's gone and ponied up the money for a TV in the corner, and wow. Whoever it is, that the screen is following - he's got moves like you've never seen. Is he any older than you? But he handles the ball like a pro. Your team wouldn't stand a chance, on this guy alone. 

Part of you rears up at that. Hey now. You could do some of that... but you don't even need to finish that thought. That kid's an all-star in the making, and you, you haven't touched a soccer ball since, ah.

Since everything.

You don't even remember getting home, just that you flop onto your bed to do some good old ceiling staring. Why  _haven't_ you played any soccer since you got back? It's like, your favorite thing. Your uniform fits fine, your cleats smell fine, your team is... probably doing fine without you, let's be real, but if you showed up sure everything would jump right back to normal. So why haven't you?

Because it's just a game? Because you don't have time? You've got plenty of time; you've got nothing  _but_ time. What's up with you?

The world doesn't need your help anymore.

Nobody does.

Nobody ever will again.

 

It takes a week, but, well. You get over it. That was kiiinda dramatic back there.

Hey, you don't have time to sit around moping. So you were a hero! So you aren't a hero anymore. What does that matter?

You get up, you get out, you get going. You hurt yourself practicing a couple maneuvers maybe just a touch outta your league. You head home for bandaids and get right back out there. 

Like, do you think anyone else is sitting around sulking, just 'cause you already fulfilled your whole destiny shtick, or whatever? Of course not, none of your friends are such sad sacks. They're all probably having fun on their own right now.

You don't need to keep checking in, like some kinda mother hen.

You trust them, don't you?

 

How could you not?

 

 

 

As it will turn out, in the end, you would not have known how to help anyway. But you will still wish you'd tried.

(Learning not to jump the gun means knowing when you have to jump it too.)


	7. vii. worthless

Sometimes, you look at her, and with all your soul you pray that child takes after someone else.

 

You don't know why you worry about this kind of thing. It's fairly obvious she'd follow her brother to hell and back, given the chance; and it's not as if you even spent a lot of time together, personally. You wouldn't mind it - she's a cute kid! - but you don't, not enough to justify all this worry. It doesn't make sense. What's wrong with you?

But no matter how you twist it, logic won't help; you look at her, at the heart she carries on her sleeve, and oh, you worry.

What will time do, to those bright eyes?

 

Everyone deals with loss in their own way, you know. Some cry it all out. Some bury it. You've seen a lot of ways, in your time, and not many success stories; too many downcast eyes, too many heads held to hands. 

You always dealt with others, first off. It was easier, caring about people; or rather, you couldn't really justify the effort on just yourself. You didn't have time to be tired. Someone else had it worse, and who knew better than you how much more they needed a hand? So you'd take care of it. That was that.

But the day you come back, you don't take care of it. You don't know how anymore.

You learned to be honest, so honest you'll be: you can't make yourself believe that you could lift a finger to help. It's very simple.

If you can't pass this grief yourself, how can you comfort anyone else?

 

Time passes, and your heart never cools. They were hurting, and you didn't help; they hurt still, and you still don't know how to help. Each friend follows a different path; each grief takes on a life of its own; and you still can't solve a single problem. What happened to you? Time is experience is expertise, but you're flailing like a newborn babe at the one skill you thought you could always count on.

(all you're good for)

You clean up around the house. You reorganize your desk, run out for groceries, idle in the aisles like you won't just end up buying the usual. You take the long way home. It's safer, you tell yourself; not that it gives you something to do.

You take up walking, when all else fails. Walking is good for you, and it beats talking by a fair margin.

Beats beating yourself up about walls you can't pass.

You walk before dawn, at the edge of dusk, in the middle of the night when sleep eludes and you've nothing else to do. You like it best then. Even the bustling city is a little quieter, when the stars are out; and you'll never meet someone you know. Rather, you have every reason to avoid meeting anyone at all. It's a good way to keep the peace of quiet.

It's not safe, on the city streets at night, so you keep your moonlight patrols to a minimum. But you don't stop. Never stop. It would feel like admitting defeat, you guess, in a weird way. Like giving up on... what? You aren't really sure.

You remember what it was like, to fall into the sky. You remember many things. Faces you would miss, lives placed in your hands. The hot stench of sweat, and dirt, and everything. The cool air you only found in infinity alone.

 

You think too much, sometimes. It's a bad habit.

It makes you miss the important things.

 

 

You'll be right, kind of, when it all goes down. She didn't take after you after all. You never spent enough time together for something like that; none of you did.

Maybe you should have.

But there are some things you'll just have to let go.


	8. viii. selfless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you look at yourself.
> 
> You try not to make a habit of it.

 

You weren't meant to be like anyone else.

 

This is a fact; nothing more, nothing less. You are different - were always different. You are an anomaly. You are The Anomaly.

You are the Eighth Child, the Child of Light. Sometimes, you know this over your own name.

 

 

 

You were five years old, when you first began to comprehend the true depth of your failure.

It was so simple. Go outside, kick the ball; child's play, in the most literal sense possible. Your brother was never much for complexity. You always liked that about him. It made keeping up easy.

But you didn't keep up, that day, as simple as it was. You didn't keep up at all, and look what it brought you.

She was mad, and he was sad; and you?

You were alone, for a long, long time.

 

It was not your first major failing. At that time, too, you had been protected; but you were younger then. You could not understand.

 

And it would not be your last.

Not nearly.

 

 

 

Such is the nature of Light.

 

 

 

On a brisk summer morning, under a too-bright sky, your brother set out for summer camp.

You could not follow. You were sick; you are always sick.

He worried you would ail, in his absence; but his back spelled relief, unconscious, in freedom.

You smiled, and returned to bed.

 

On a dim summer day, under a broken sky, you bade your brother farewell once more, and watched him disappear. The world is changing, he told you, and he needs to change it back from the other side. His friends, he told you, are waiting for him there. They need him there. And you agreed.

You are yet too weak, he did not tell you, to come along. But his eyes were softer, his stance firmer, than you recalled. You would not be joining him, he did not say, in that strange other world. You would not survive.

He did not say it; but you agreed, regardless.

You knew that much, at least.

 

On a cold summer night, your brother returned to you, and the world turned upside-down.

 

 

 

 

 

This is what you know, about the Chosen Children;

_\- seek for the Light, cleave wrong from right_

_\- hold dear the Light, bear with its plight_

_\- guard well the Light, keep all in sight_

_\- walk to the Light, true self hold tight_

_\- trust in the Light, through darkest night_

_\- keep strong the Light, give passion might_

_\- pass on the Light, make future bright_

_\- you are the Light_

_\- for you they fight_

 

This is what you know, about your friends:

\- that they would give up everything for you;

\- that some already have.

 

This is what you know, about yourself:

\- that you are not worthy. 

 

 

 

On the day the adventure dies, you say your farewells, and you wave long after you no longer see her face;

and then you lie down, and you go to sleep,

and you dream.

 

Consider the following: that the world will not suffer your loss; that you could give yourself a thousand times to change the flow of fate, and never be extinguished; that others bear your yoke.

Consider this: that you are protected in your innocence; that your fragility is your dearest friends' undoing; that your weakness is a whip.

Consider: that the human mind is malleable; that the body follows suit; that even you are human, surely.

Consider further:

No more guardians.

 

You rise up, and never cough again.

 

 

 

Of course.

Such is the nature of you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(You will never be strong enough.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you.


End file.
